X. Butterfly Dreaming
**Week 7, Day 2: Well, Yoda said not to tell anyone else. But he didn't say anything about my journal. Still, just to be safe, I'm not mentioning any names.
I think I've figured out what's going on now. When Master Yoda was talking about the decline in Jedi numbers, I started thinking about the Zabrak in the Library. Yeah, that Zabrak. I'll bet anything he's been looking up the records of Force-testing they do on children. The Jedi have been in such sharp decline because the Purge is already happening! Somehow, they're able to do away with Force-sensitive children, maybe even whole families, with no one the wiser. Then again, with the Senate in the state it's in, it's no wonder no one knows about it.
I feel like I ought to be more frustrated, knowing who's behind it, and all, but I'm not. Maybe it's that famous Jedi serenity rubbing off on me. I know getting it off my chest with Yoda made me feel a whole lot better.
Speaking of feeling better: When I came back to my rooms, the holocam was gone. My computer's been password secured, too. That blow-up at Master Qui-Gon did some good, at least. Everyone's been warming up to me lately, in fact. Mace Windu actually (gasp!) smiled at me, when I saw him in the Library the other day.
The only thing still bugging me are those ritually masochistic freaks-- what the hell are they doing here? I only saw the one (hey, one was enough, considering that he and his body had parted ways); but where's there's one, there's always more. I had no idea they were here so early in the timeline.
There's a part of me that actually hopes I get killed in the upcoming...well, mess, so I don't have to worry about living long enough to see the havoc those goons will bring. I remember what they did--do? will do?--to their captives.**
* * *
Cathleen fairly sailed through her morning routine. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had asked her to join them that evening for one last dinner before they left for their next mission. Good friends, good company. She wondered how long it had been since she'd had either. She wasn't worried about them leaving, though--she felt like she was finally beginning to fit in here. Initiates and young Padawans had been giving her shy smiles; even that stiff librarian had started to lighten up; and, wonder of wonders, a fellow translator had actually started *flirting* with her.
*Giddiness is for teenagers,* her thirty-something teacher voice chided, but she told it to take a hike.
She was still standing in front of her small closet, trying to decide what to wear that evening, when she realized the time. *Shit! I'm gonna be late getting to the Library!* Telling herself that if she wanted to stay in the good graces of the Jedi, tardiness was not an option, she grabbed her books and ran out to the main room.
She didn't hear it when those books hit the floor. She didn't even hear if he said anything before the red blade appeared. There was only her pulse in her ears. The whole room seemed to vibrate with that thundering beat.
* * *
Something inside told him that this woman should meet her destiny with his true face before her. One hand clutching his lightsaber, Darth Maul reached up and touched a spot on his nose. The pain of the masquer's detachment only served to tighten his focus. Yes: he would honor her strength by giving her a quick and clean death.
The shock as his blade entered her showed plainly in her wide eyes. A gasp, hands clutching his tunics as she began to collapse. Her last breath brushed coolly across his lips.
And then she smiled.
* * *
Darsha Assant's tenuous grip on her meditation snapped. She'd heard--what? She looked to her Master, but the Twi'lek was still deep inside himself. Trying to calm down enough to resume her exercise was useless; the most she could manage was to shield her agitation from her Master.
Had that animalistic howl of rage been simply a waking dream? A cold premonition told her not--and that someday, she'd know exactly what had made it. Darsha knew she'd be having nightmares tonight. She suddenly wished she were still young enough to sneak into Master Bondara's bed at night, where it was safe.
* * *
Her day's work at the Library sat untouched; but she hadn't notified anyone that she'd be absent. Master Qui-Gon had felt Cathleen's earlier wave of fear and pain; but the Healers hadn't been alerted to any injury today. He and Obi-Wan stood in her rooms now, along with a pair of Council members. There was nothing amiss here--save for two small details.
Qui-Gon picked up the tracer chip. One edge was scorched. And those books- -they had been carelessly dropped, though Cathleen had treated books almost reverently. He had repeatedly searched the Force for Cathleen's signature, but there was nothing. Oh, her presence still suffused the room: there were papers and sketches casually scattered about, and garments strewn on the floor of the bedroom--she had been anything but an orderly person. The Jedi Master could almost believe she'd be walking back into her quarters at any moment, asking what the hubbub was about. The books lying forlorn and the internal tracer, though, said she was gone.
That tracer, he supposed, had been the final disgrace. Had she known of it, she would have doubtless demanded its removal. *I want the damn thing out of me now!* she would have said. But it had saved her life. That chip was how he and Obi-Wan had found her--although catching her in midair had still been quite a feat. What use had it been today, though? Qui-Gon dropped the chip, and crushed it under his boot.
Of its own volition, his hand slipped inside the folds of his tunic to briefly caress a slip of flimsiplast. He'd kept it there since pulling it from Cathleen's handbag the night of their last--and only--dinner. What had surprised him was not the fact that it was a sketch of him. No, it was the obvious care she'd taken in his portrayal, showing him deep in thought, that had quietly shaken him. He hadn't even shown the picture to Obi-Wan.
"You were the only one who could sense her, Master Qui-Gon. Would you have felt it if she had died?" Mace Windu's voice asked behind him.
"My apprentice was also beginning to be able to sense her, but.... That is no real assurance. Her Force presence has dropped away before."
Master Yoda prodded the crushed tracer chip. "Useless is speculation." He looked sharply at the three human Jedi, his eyes deeper and more troubled than ever before. "Fulfilled, her purpose among us is. Passed on, her knowledge has been." And as if that settled anything at all, he turned to leave.
Over the past few days, the old Master's gait had begun to slow. His shoulders had become stooped, as though he were carrying a heavier burden than his small body could manage. Qui-Gon turned a questioning eye to Mace, who was perhaps the only Jedi to call Master Yoda a friend.
"I don't know, Qui-Gon," was all the man could say.
* * *
*For eight hundred years, have I known the ways of the Force. It flows where it will.* Master Yoda fingered the amulet around his neck, before dropping it back beneath his robes. The data crystal hidden within it didn't contain the information the woman had given him, of course. That was safely tucked away in his mind. Rather, it was the final entry in her journal.
**Week 7, Day 5: The longer I stay here, the more I seem to dream of home. I figured, after everything that's happened, I should be having nightmares, but these are pleasant. Sometimes I even feel homesick.
I think it was Confucius who talked about dreaming that he was a butterfly. Or maybe it was Lao-Tzu, I don't remember. Anyway, upon waking, he asked, Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly? Or am I really just a butterfly, dreaming of being a man?**
End.
**Week 7, Day 2: Well, Yoda said not to tell anyone else. But he didn't say anything about my journal. Still, just to be safe, I'm not mentioning any names.
I think I've figured out what's going on now. When Master Yoda was talking about the decline in Jedi numbers, I started thinking about the Zabrak in the Library. Yeah, that Zabrak. I'll bet anything he's been looking up the records of Force-testing they do on children. The Jedi have been in such sharp decline because the Purge is already happening! Somehow, they're able to do away with Force-sensitive children, maybe even whole families, with no one the wiser. Then again, with the Senate in the state it's in, it's no wonder no one knows about it.
I feel like I ought to be more frustrated, knowing who's behind it, and all, but I'm not. Maybe it's that famous Jedi serenity rubbing off on me. I know getting it off my chest with Yoda made me feel a whole lot better.
Speaking of feeling better: When I came back to my rooms, the holocam was gone. My computer's been password secured, too. That blow-up at Master Qui-Gon did some good, at least. Everyone's been warming up to me lately, in fact. Mace Windu actually (gasp!) smiled at me, when I saw him in the Library the other day.
The only thing still bugging me are those ritually masochistic freaks-- what the hell are they doing here? I only saw the one (hey, one was enough, considering that he and his body had parted ways); but where's there's one, there's always more. I had no idea they were here so early in the timeline.
There's a part of me that actually hopes I get killed in the upcoming...well, mess, so I don't have to worry about living long enough to see the havoc those goons will bring. I remember what they did--do? will do?--to their captives.**
* * *
Cathleen fairly sailed through her morning routine. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had asked her to join them that evening for one last dinner before they left for their next mission. Good friends, good company. She wondered how long it had been since she'd had either. She wasn't worried about them leaving, though--she felt like she was finally beginning to fit in here. Initiates and young Padawans had been giving her shy smiles; even that stiff librarian had started to lighten up; and, wonder of wonders, a fellow translator had actually started *flirting* with her.
*Giddiness is for teenagers,* her thirty-something teacher voice chided, but she told it to take a hike.
She was still standing in front of her small closet, trying to decide what to wear that evening, when she realized the time. *Shit! I'm gonna be late getting to the Library!* Telling herself that if she wanted to stay in the good graces of the Jedi, tardiness was not an option, she grabbed her books and ran out to the main room.
She didn't hear it when those books hit the floor. She didn't even hear if he said anything before the red blade appeared. There was only her pulse in her ears. The whole room seemed to vibrate with that thundering beat.
* * *
Something inside told him that this woman should meet her destiny with his true face before her. One hand clutching his lightsaber, Darth Maul reached up and touched a spot on his nose. The pain of the masquer's detachment only served to tighten his focus. Yes: he would honor her strength by giving her a quick and clean death.
The shock as his blade entered her showed plainly in her wide eyes. A gasp, hands clutching his tunics as she began to collapse. Her last breath brushed coolly across his lips.
And then she smiled.
* * *
Darsha Assant's tenuous grip on her meditation snapped. She'd heard--what? She looked to her Master, but the Twi'lek was still deep inside himself. Trying to calm down enough to resume her exercise was useless; the most she could manage was to shield her agitation from her Master.
Had that animalistic howl of rage been simply a waking dream? A cold premonition told her not--and that someday, she'd know exactly what had made it. Darsha knew she'd be having nightmares tonight. She suddenly wished she were still young enough to sneak into Master Bondara's bed at night, where it was safe.
* * *
Her day's work at the Library sat untouched; but she hadn't notified anyone that she'd be absent. Master Qui-Gon had felt Cathleen's earlier wave of fear and pain; but the Healers hadn't been alerted to any injury today. He and Obi-Wan stood in her rooms now, along with a pair of Council members. There was nothing amiss here--save for two small details.
Qui-Gon picked up the tracer chip. One edge was scorched. And those books- -they had been carelessly dropped, though Cathleen had treated books almost reverently. He had repeatedly searched the Force for Cathleen's signature, but there was nothing. Oh, her presence still suffused the room: there were papers and sketches casually scattered about, and garments strewn on the floor of the bedroom--she had been anything but an orderly person. The Jedi Master could almost believe she'd be walking back into her quarters at any moment, asking what the hubbub was about. The books lying forlorn and the internal tracer, though, said she was gone.
That tracer, he supposed, had been the final disgrace. Had she known of it, she would have doubtless demanded its removal. *I want the damn thing out of me now!* she would have said. But it had saved her life. That chip was how he and Obi-Wan had found her--although catching her in midair had still been quite a feat. What use had it been today, though? Qui-Gon dropped the chip, and crushed it under his boot.
Of its own volition, his hand slipped inside the folds of his tunic to briefly caress a slip of flimsiplast. He'd kept it there since pulling it from Cathleen's handbag the night of their last--and only--dinner. What had surprised him was not the fact that it was a sketch of him. No, it was the obvious care she'd taken in his portrayal, showing him deep in thought, that had quietly shaken him. He hadn't even shown the picture to Obi-Wan.
"You were the only one who could sense her, Master Qui-Gon. Would you have felt it if she had died?" Mace Windu's voice asked behind him.
"My apprentice was also beginning to be able to sense her, but.... That is no real assurance. Her Force presence has dropped away before."
Master Yoda prodded the crushed tracer chip. "Useless is speculation." He looked sharply at the three human Jedi, his eyes deeper and more troubled than ever before. "Fulfilled, her purpose among us is. Passed on, her knowledge has been." And as if that settled anything at all, he turned to leave.
Over the past few days, the old Master's gait had begun to slow. His shoulders had become stooped, as though he were carrying a heavier burden than his small body could manage. Qui-Gon turned a questioning eye to Mace, who was perhaps the only Jedi to call Master Yoda a friend.
"I don't know, Qui-Gon," was all the man could say.
* * *
*For eight hundred years, have I known the ways of the Force. It flows where it will.* Master Yoda fingered the amulet around his neck, before dropping it back beneath his robes. The data crystal hidden within it didn't contain the information the woman had given him, of course. That was safely tucked away in his mind. Rather, it was the final entry in her journal.
**Week 7, Day 5: The longer I stay here, the more I seem to dream of home. I figured, after everything that's happened, I should be having nightmares, but these are pleasant. Sometimes I even feel homesick.
I think it was Confucius who talked about dreaming that he was a butterfly. Or maybe it was Lao-Tzu, I don't remember. Anyway, upon waking, he asked, Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly? Or am I really just a butterfly, dreaming of being a man?**
End.